


Fixin' It Up

by c0cunt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, House Cleaning, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0cunt/pseuds/c0cunt
Summary: Keith begins the long, hard work of fixing the house his father had left for him.  He isn't alone, of course:  Shiro's always there for him.





	1. Break It Down

**Author's Note:**

> -jazz hands- here guys I have some house renovation fic for y'all but I'm having difficulties adding tags from my phone so lmao rip
> 
> Either way, I hope y'all enjoy!! Lemme know what you think of it!!

Keith was utterly and completely fucked.  Well, sort of, at least. He had told Shiro the night before that he _really_ wanted to start on the pet project of fixing up the broken shell that was his childhood home.  It had been untouched for years, ignored by both himself and his uncle Thace, who had raised him and held the house in trust until Keith was 18.  Which was the reason behind cancelling their usual Saturday “hanging out” thing that Keith was struggling to not call dates (even though Shiro’s hands always found their way to Keith's waist, and the older man always looked at him with stars in his eyes, and jesus _fuck,_ they were probably dates).  Keith felt his heart flutter stupidly when he heard the familiar sound of Shiro’s car horn, early enough in the day to still be considered ass’o’clock in the morning.

 

“Shiro, what the fuck,” Keith pretended to complain as he leaned against the open front door, trying to sound casual as Shiro tripped out of his car, looking far too eager for so early in the day.

 

“You said you were gonna work on the place, so I figured I'd lend a hand.  Or something...Unless you would rather…” Shiro trailed off hesitantly, running a hand through his hair (his roots were starting to show, Keith noted) to shove underneath a beat up Garrison baseball cap that had been tucked under his arm for safekeeping.  Keith pretended to think about it, eyes narrowing as he subtly ran his eyes over Shiro’s old jeans and NASA tank top that he knew _for a fact_ was perfectly soft and worn from frequent wearing.  (It also put Shiro’s arms on display, which Keith always felt grateful about.  Bless Shiro, for sticking to his workout regime even with the insufferably long work days he endured.)

 

“Well...Since you're here...How good are you with a sledgehammer?” Keith eventually decided, stepping out of blocking the entrance when Shiro reached where he had been leaning.  Shiro’s eyebrows twitched up for a moment as he followed Keith inside, cautious but eager to see where Keith had lived before Shiro knew him.

 

“Never used one.  But, you've got all the permits you need, right?  Your uncle Antok would have a fit if he finds out you didn't.”  Shiro tried not to sound like he was lecturing, as the two of them squeezed into the tiny hallway entrance.  Keith snorted as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and gestured to the red spray paint on the walls that clearly marked where they would go down.

 

“Antok _insisted_ on doing it himself, after Thace told him I was planning to redo the house.  He and the other Marmora all really helped…” Keith paused, staring up the staircase at the end of the hall that he remembered racing his dad down, and somehow always winning.  Shiro put a hand comfortingly on his shoulder, and Keith sighed deeply, leaning into Shiro's touch.

 

“They packed everything that was still here, threw it into a storage room until I'm ready to look at it...I...I’m not sure when that'll be…” Keith sighed again, as Shiro's hand traveled down to his waist, and pulled him gently into Shiro's side.

 

“I...Do you want me to help with that?” Shiro asked delicately.  Keith knew what his answer was, (yes, always yes, when it came to anything with Shiro) but he swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat as he shrugged and shook out the newly approved floor plan.

 

“Let's knock some shit down,” Keith muttered gruffly, ducking out from under Shiro's arm to grab the hammer and protective goggles he had left by the front door.  “Did you bring anything with you?” Keith asked as he lifted the hammer easily, eyeing the first red mark on the wall to where he remembered the living room to be.

 

“I brought paint rollers and a screwdriver?” Shiro said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.  “Didn't realize we’d be tearing down walls…”

 

Keith laughed slightly, shaking his head as he saw how Antok had included some of the doors in the areas that would be knocked down.  “Grab that screwdriver, some of these doors gotta go. They're in decent shape, could salvage them and use ‘em for something else,” Keith muttered half to himself, running a hand over the solid oak door that would be knocked down.  He hadn't even thought about the doors that were still left in the house, bringing only a hammer and his temper to get him through the construction. What else might still be in the house, that Keith hadn't considered?

 

Carefully, he eased open the door to the living room, poking his head inside the tiniest bit.  There wasn't any furniture sitting around, the walls empty of everything aside from Antok’s spray paint.  Even the windows were left bare, holders for curtain rods waiting patiently to be filled again. Keith could vividly remember when he had hidden in his mother’s heavy curtains, giggling loudly as his dad wondered where he was hiding as they played.  Keith snapped the door closed on that memory sharply, and turned to the next room, ignoring the way his eyes itched.

 

The downstairs bathroom, dining room, and library were also empty.  Appliances and heavy cabinetry stood wearily in the otherwise empty kitchen - Keith realized he'd probably need to get more than the one dumpster he had arranged for, as he hesitantly made his way upstairs, vaguely aware of Shiro returning even if he didn't acknowledge it verbally.

 

Four rooms, four closed doors.  That's all Keith had left to check out.  He and Antok hadn't touched the layout of the second floor, but now Keith felt it was his _duty_ to see the other rooms.  The first door, almost directly in front of the stairwell, was a bathroom.  The safest of the four rooms left, and it was as empty as the one downstairs had been.  Keith breathed deeply as he contemplated which way to go. Left was only one door, but right held two doors...His dad’s room was to the left.  Wincing slightly, Keith turned right, making a beeline for the door that led to his room, Shiro silently following behind.

 

Keith had forgotten the exact shade of blue his room had been.  Powder blue and thick navy stripes lined the room, encircling the silver banner with Keith's name embellished within.  He had been told the handwriting was his mother’s, a heartbroken look on his dad’s face when he would run his hands over the lettering.  Keith found himself suddenly at eye level with his name, almost surprised that it wasn't as high up as he remembered it being. Then again, the last time he’d seen it had been when he was eight.  Keith started to raise a shaking hand to his name, as Shiro curiously poked around the space.

 

“My mom made this,” Keith rasped quietly, as Shiro peeked into the tiny closet that Keith had weathered out thunderstorms in, his dad curling up awkwardly in the confined space with him.

 

“We can kee-oh…” Shiro’s voice was slightly muffled from being in the closet, but his tone drew Keith’s attention faster than if Shiro had yelled for him.  Shiro was straightening up as Keith strode over, a small, purple thing held in his hands as gently as he would a tiny kitten.

 

Keith recognized it immediately, and felt as though all his attempts at keeping his heart from hurting while fixing the house had been useless, as he took the toy from Shiro.  He was six years old again, helping his dad pick out a toy for his coworker’s new dog. The purple hippo had been in the clearance bin, at the perfect height for dogs of all sizes and small kids to rifle through, and Keith _needed_ that hippo.  The only time his dad had ever been disappointed in Keith had been when that hippo had left the store with them, hidden under Keith's slightly too-big shirt and revealed in the car ride home.  They had almost run out of gas, driving back to the shop to apologize and pay for it. Keith felt the same hot burn of tears now as he had when his dad had sat him down and explained that even though he wanted to give Keith the world, that even the few dollars they had spent was going to hurt them for awhile.  Just like in the memory, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him gently, but it was a different voice murmuring “I'm sorry” into Keith's ear that brought him back to the present.

 

Weakly, Keith buried his face into Shiro's shirt, accidentally smearing his tears on Shiro's shoulder.  “Fuck…” Keith whispered, not trusting his voice to hold if he raised it to proper speaking levels. One of Shiro's hands gently rubbed up and down his back soothingly, and Keith couldn't stop the small, wet hiccup that bubbled out of his tight throat.  “M’sorry...For bein’ a big baby…” Keith choked out, embarrassed. Shiro shushed him, and pulled back the tiniest bit to look him in the eyes.

 

“Hey…” Shiro started, but then seemed to lose his train of thought.  The look on his face was so soft, as he searched Keith's for an answer to a question he hadn't been able to ask.  Keith wasn't sure what answer Shiro found, but he did seem to find what he had started to say. “You're not a baby for crying like this, y’know.  It's been years since you've had to think about any of this,” he gestured to the room at large, his other hand still gently holding Keith against himself.  “You're stronger than you think you are,” Shiro finished, his other arm coming back to gently rest at Keith's waist again.

 

Keith felt overwhelmed, his breath hitching in his throat, defensively curling his hands that were still clutching the purple hippo against his chest.  His heart was overflowing, even if his eyes weren't anymore. “Thank you, Takashi,” Keith choked out, even if he only ever felt strong with Shiro there to help him piece himself back together.  Impulsively, Keith leaned forward and pressed his chapped lips to the edge of Shiro's mouth, then hid his face against the other man’s shoulder with a nervous huff. It was more than just his emotions running wild at the moment, an impulse he had been fighting for _ages,_ because Keith needed Shiro to _know_ that he needed Shiro like the stars needed the night’s sky to really shine.

 

Even if he couldn't say it right now, in his childhood bedroom, Keith would let Shiro know.  It was, after all, the answer to the question Shiro had been looking for.


	2. Build It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith decides it's way past time to get to work on the storage unit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is my third time trying to post this chapter. first time, ao3 hiccuped when i went to preview, and it just...refreshed my page. i screeched for ten minutes and then walked away.  
> second time, i had an idea and started adding onto what's here in the posting page instead of my gdoc...and then my dog jumped onto my laptop. and in the chaos, ended up closing my tab.
> 
> so i haven't had the best luck with this chapter or this fic. so i'm gonna cross my fingers and hope that third time's the charm, cause if not, then i'm not gonna finish this fic

Keith had never felt better in his life.  He was finally meeting the weight goal he had set when he declared as a kid that he’d be able to carry  _ all the good dogs. _  Plus, he could lift Shiro easily and turn his boyfriend  _ (finally!) _ into a sputtering mess.  That was always great. His cousin Regris’s shop had been featured as “small business of the month” by the local news station, so they were both plenty busy, and money flowed freely.  The only thing he really felt needed to be taken care of, was the storage unit.

 

Keith felt himself wince as he even thought about the unit.  It had been set up after he had decided to begin construction on his house, and his uncle Antok had gotten the rest of the Marmora motorcycle club members to help empty the house when he had inspected it.  It had all ended up in the unit, patiently waiting for when Keith was ready to go through what was waiting for him there. And, well...Keith had put it off long enough. Two years was bordering on ridiculous, in Keith's mind.  With that thought, Keith grabbed Shiro on the one Saturday a month that they now shared off, and took him down to the storage center.

 

The little green key had a piece of duct tape with 439 scrawled on it, and it was  _ way _ more intimidating than any key ever should be.  Shiro eyed it like it was going to bite him, and Keith couldn't agree more with that sentiment as they put in the proper code to get through the storage center’s gates.  Then there was the issue of finding the right unit: Keith was too nervous to ask the person at the front desk in the main building where it would be, and Shiro seemed reluctant about asking as well.  But after circling the entire property twice, Shiro made Keith park by the main building so he could go inside to ask directions. Keith gnawed on his thumb nail nervously, counting the exact time it took for Shiro to reappear after heading into the building.

 

It was nearly three minutes before Shiro reappeared, rolling his eyes as he tugged Keith's nail away from his nervous mouth.  It was an indoor unit, Shiro revealed, gently leading Keith out of the car like a lamb being led to slaughter. The man at the counter smiled warmly when they entered, before returning to the spilled guts of the radio he appeared to be fixing up.  Or destroying. Keith wasn't sure which, and he didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

 

Shiro started confidently through the door to the indoor units, squinting at the little directory that was just barely inside.  The door thumped heavily into Keith's hip as he nervously shifted his weight, eyeing the signs posted at the first branching hallway.

 

“Looks like we gotta go up to the third floor,” Shiro muttered, already searching for the elevator sign.  Keith let out some vague sort of affirming noise, knocking the door off his hip and leading the way towards the elevator that apparently was located in the middle of the storage center.

 

“This is mildly inconvenient,” Keith grumbled as he jabbed the call button for the elevator, wondering if there would be clunky furniture in need of moving.  Shiro just shrugged, and reached out to stop Keith from continuing to stab the unfortunate button.

 

“I guess.  If the upper levels are laid out like down here, you won't be too far from the elevator,” Shiro commented, nodding to where unit number 139 stood at the far end of the hall.  It was a large unit, almost the same size of a single car garage, and that made Keith nervous. But then again, this entire trip felt like a train wreck waiting to happen, so why not?  Keith let out a grumble of some sort, clinging to Shiro’s hand like the lifeline it was, his thumb nail once again finding its way to his nervous mouth.

 

The elevator ride up was both agonizingly slow and horribly too short.  It didn't give Keith enough time to prepare for when the doors slid open to show that the upper floors did indeed mirror those below, except for size.  Locker 439 was about half the size of the one on the first floor, and Keith's stomach couldn't decide if that made it churn more or less. Either way, it was only because of Shiro gently tugging on his hand that Keith even left the elevator, watching Keith like a hawk as he approached the locker like a man to the gallows.

 

“It doesn't have to be today, you know,” Shiro reminded him softly, squeezing Keith's hand gently.  Keith squeezed his hand back, and shook his head, frustrated.

 

“It's been years, Shiro.  If I don't make myself do it now, I never will.”  Keith squared his shoulders as they stopped in front of the locker.  The hall echoed slightly, throwing their voices back at them, and Keith's own words seemed to bolster his confidence enough to reach out and unlock the unit.  Without giving himself a second to hesitate, Keith shoved the door open, bracing himself for what was to come.

 

The unit was extremely organized.  Boxes lined the left side, taking up about half of the floor space and stacked just a little too high for Keith to comfortably reach by himself.  The other half had a small loveseat that Keith remembered being curled up on for the entirety of winter break in first grade, nose dripping as his dad tried to stem the flow while trying not to panic about Keith's cold growing into anything worse.  There was an envelope taped to the wall with Keith's name written on it, in Ulaz’s handwriting. That seemed like the safest thing, and Keith wrenched it down as Shiro curiously poked at the nearest box.

 

_ Keith, _ the note began,  _ it may have been bold of me to assume, but your uncles and I decided to get rid of most of the furniture.  It was all donated, and Thace has the record and tax write-off for it. Ask him if you would like to see it.  Half of the boxes are ones that your father kept for your mother. Contact us if need be. Ulaz. _

 

“...Where do you want to start?” Shiro asked gently, as Keith stared blankly at the note for a beat too long.

 

“Half the boxes are my mother's,” Keith answered blankly, looking up at the even more intimidatingly neatly stacked boxes.  Some of them did appear more worn than others, with unfamiliar handwritten labels that Keith assumed was his dad’s handwriting.  Shiro looked at the boxes as if he had just been told they contained active bombs, and he moved half in front of Keith nervously.

 

“Shit,” Shiro mumbled, eyes darting between the box he had just been about to open, and Keith's obviously overwhelmed face.  The urge to remind Keith that he didn't have to do anything today crawled up the back of Shiro’s throat, ready to spill like bile that he desperately swallowed down.  Shiro had reminded him more than enough, and another reminder would probably make Keith more frustrated with himself than anything else.

 

“Let’s...One box.”  Keith eventually decided, grabbing at the first box his hands lighted upon.  Hoping that it was nothing more than a box of fancy silverware or something, Shiro helped Keith wrench it out, wincing as Keith nearly face planted into the towers of boxes, unbalanced and unprepared for the weight of it.

 

Keith slammed the box down heavily into the middle of the loveseat, before dropping down on the left side, leaving Shiro to carefully resettle the stack of boxes that had been disrupted.  The practiced, fluid motion of getting his pocket knife out and flicking it open eased Keith's nerves slightly, and Shiro settled down on the other side of the box as Keith slit the tape carefully.  He hesitated when all four flaps could be lifted, taking his time putting the knife away, putting off the inevitable. Shiro put his hands over the flaps, eyebrows raised as they both shuffled onto their knees to look inside more easily.  Keith took a shaky breath as he covered Shiro's hands with his own, and dug his thumbs underneath the cardboard for a moment. Together, they opened the box, and Keith peered forward both eagerly and reluctantly, Shiro just barely behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know if you liked this! (that cliffhanger was intentional, and i probably won't write anything more for this fic lmao)  
> you can find me on twitter with the same name, if you're interested in what i'm doing with my life


End file.
